The Combat Codes

by Alexander Darwin

  “Your brother Lior was in my class two years ago, and two years before that, I had Tycho. Good students. Good, strong work ethic. I believe you must possess the same ethic, Gryfin. That strength comes from your blood name—Thurgood. Once, there were animals called horses that folk rode to travel long distances. Instead of pods, they used the endurance of these mighty beasts to get where they needed to go. Some of the best horses, which a man could truly rely on, were called thoroughbreds. That is where your name comes from Gryfin—Thurgood. Your bloodline possesses the good strength of a thoroughbred horse.”

  “Dozer,” Professor Kitaka repeated. Dozer stiffened up again. He appeared to have forgotten he was still on the hot seat after Professor Kitaka had gone off on the tangent about horses.

  “Dozer, because you do not have a pure Grievar bloodline, you also do not have a blood name to carry meaning. Which is why lacklights assign their meaning through their given name. So, when I saw your name on my registry, I wondered what Dozer meant. My first thought was perhaps that Dozer meant you were strong, as your biometrics clearly read. However, now I see that the true meaning of your name, Dozer, refers to your ability to sleep soundly even amidst the most important parts of my lecture.”

  Dozer began to apologize again, but Professor Kitaka held a finger up to quiet him.

  “Come up here, Dozer, and because you are clearly tired by my words, we shall do something more to your level of understanding.”

  Cego heard Shiar cackle in delight from the other side of the classroom.

  Dozer looked down at the floor as he walked to the front of the class and stood next to Professor Kitaka. His friend was noticeably taller and thicker than Kitaka.

  “Dozer, I want you to lift this weight above your head.” Kitaka pointed to one of the heavier circular weights set along the wall of the classroom.

  Dozer smiled and moved over to the stack of weights. Cego knew that smile; his friend was looking forward to showing off in front of the class—after all, lifting things over his head was one of Dozer’s specialties.

  Dozer took hold of the grips on the weight, lowered his knees and heaved it over his head in one clean jerk movement.

  “Hold there for a moment, Dozer,” said Professor Kitaka, walking over to him. “Class, as you can see, our friend Dozer has easily lifted this heavy weight. As you can also see, part of Dozer’s technique to lift the weight involved inhaling and holding his breath to create a strong base structure.” Kitaka pointed to Dozer’s expanded chest.

  “Now, Dozer, can you do a quick jog around the room for us while holding that weight?” Kitaka asked.

  Dozer, whose face was starting to turn red under the strain, began to jog around the room.

  Kitaka continued to make his observations as Dozer ran. “As you can see, Dozer is still holding his breath to maintain his structure beneath the weight, but now that he is exerting cardiovascular strain on his lungs, his breath cannot hold.”

  As if on cue, Dozer exhaled sharply and began to breathe heavily.

  “Continue to run for us, Dozer,” Kitaka said. “As Dozer continues to exert more cardiovascular strain, you can see that the muscles that were holding up the weight can no longer provide the same support as they once did.”

  Just as Kitaka had observed, Dozer’s arms began to shiver under the weight.

  “In a relatively short period of time, Dozer simply cannot support the weight,” Kitaka concluded, just as Dozer fell to his knees, clunking the big weight onto the floor.

  Kitaka stood over Dozer, looking down at the boy as he took labored breaths. “Dozer did what came naturally to him. He was not wrong in thinking that holding his breath would help him lift the heavy weight over his head. However, he was not prepared for any continued exertion.”

  To demonstrate, Kitaka moved over to the same weight. The old professor bent his knees and jerked the weight over his head, much as Dozer had done. However, Cego noticed that Kitaka exhaled when lifting, and as soon as the weight was up and over, he slowly began to inhale.

  Kitaka began to run around the room with the weight, taking breaths in between speaking. “As… you can see… I am able to continue my pattern of breathing… while… exerting… cardiovascular strain.”

  Kitaka ran around the room for over a minute to demonstrate the effectiveness of the technique before calmly placing the weight back on the ground. He was hardly breathing with any difficulty.

  “Now, obviously, everything we learn in this class relates back to combat. What Dozer has helped me demonstrate here is a principle of exertion and conservation of energy.”

  Dozer had taken his seat on the floor by Cego again, still breathing hard as Kitaka addressed the class.

  “Any action taken in combat needs to be realized under pressure and likely will require continued exertion. Lifting an opponent over your head won’t do anything by itself. One needs to be prepared for an initial action, or lift, and then continued exertion or energy expenditure after that action. For example, after you execute a successful takedown, you can’t just stop and say you’re done. You need to exert pressure on your opponent, pass to an advantageous position, and finish them. You cannot overexert yourself on the initial lift—otherwise, your opponent may take advantage of your depleted energy,” Kitaka explained.

  Dozer was nodding his head now. Cego had been afraid Kitaka’s demonstration was made to embarrass Dozer in front of the class, a technique Tasker Ozark had been fond of. This wasn’t the case—Dozer, and the entire class, had learned something from the demonstration.

  Cego looked over again at Sol still meticulously taking notes. He sheepishly slid his hand across his lightdeck to power it on and began to pay attention.

  *

  Murray sat at the kitchen table alone, tapping his foot nervously.

  His barracks were quiet without any of the kids around. Masa and Mune were currently off on lease to PublicJustice. Though Murray didn’t entirely approve of it, the twin Grievar had insisted that they take on contract work to help pay the bills.

  Usually, Murray appreciated the quiet, but now the barracks just seemed empty. Murray’s Scout work was on hiatus for the month after the Trials, so that left him without any clear objectives. Normally, drinking himself into a stupor every day would be on top of that list.

  Something had changed.

  Murray stood up, paced around the kitchen, and walked briskly out to the barracks. He threw the cover off Ruby and took out the wash bucket, kneeling as he started to apply another sheen of finish to his Circle’s already-shining surface.

  Murray couldn’t get his mind off of Cego. He couldn’t stop thinking about the kid’s experience in the Trials—in the Sim.

  At first, the Sim had seemed logical. Mercuri’s Grievar Knights could maximize training by adding hours on top of their standard arduous practices. It was a way to get ahead of the other nations.

  That wasn’t the end of it, though. The Daimyos could never accept the way things were. They needed more. They needed better. First the purelight breeding programs, then the neurostimulants, then the Sim. And now… who knows what in the dark they’d done to Cego, what they might be doing to other Grievar brood.

  Memnon’s words rang out in Murray’s head. For the good of the nation. Murray spat onto the dirt floor of the barracks. He could fill this gallon wash bucket with spittle for the number of times he’d heard some politik telling him it was all for the good of the nation.

  How had the High Commander strayed so far?

  Murray could still clearly recall Professor Albion Memnon’s class at the Lyceum. When the man was still a lowly deputy Commander, Memnon had taught Grievar History 100 PA to Present. Memnon had been a great lecturer. He reviewed the histories with a passion, drawing his students into a world long past.

  “For millennia, we Grievar-kin lived in isolation from our brethren. We lived in the darkness of the Underground, on the broken isles of Myrkos, atop the snowy peaks of Kiroth.”

  Murr
ay was a Level Five when he took Memnon’s class, still uninitiated in the grand scheme of things, but at that point brash enough to think he was at the top of the fighting food chain. He could remember Memnon’s deep baritone voice reverberating throughout the Dome, the Lyceum’s largest lecture hall.

  “We kept to ourselves. Grievar lives were simple then. We gathered what food we needed, raised our families, and fought in the Circles, honing our combat skills. Our Circles were the glue that kept us together. Disputes were resolved, resources distributed, and justice delivered—all within the bounds of our Circles.”

  Murray could see Professor Memnon pacing on the stage, the entire class with their eyes glued to the man.

  “Those simple lives couldn’t last, though. While we Grievar lived peacefully, millions died around us. The Daimyo wars were fought with great numbers and devastating weapons, threatening total annihilation.”

  Though Murray was distracted by the pretty blonde sitting two rows up, Memnon’s sudden whisper caught his attention.

  “We could have stayed in solitude. We could have kept to ourselves. We could have watched from afar as our brethren destroyed themselves. We could have stood still as the world around us crumbled.”

  Memnon stopped pacing. He stared out at the class of wide-eyed Lyceum students.

  “That’s not what Grievar-kin do. We don’t stand still. We fight.”

  Murray could still remember the end of Memnon’s lecture that day with perfect clarity.

  “We came up from the Deep, we climbed down from the peaks, we sailed from the broken isles. We Grievar emerged from the darkness to stand before our Daimyo brethren in their time of need. We agreed to the Armistice—the pact signed between rival nations that stands to this day.”

  Memnon voice rang out across the Dome.

  “The great weapons would be sealed away. Nations would no longer raise arms for land or resources or pride. The bloodshed would stop. The inevitable annihilation would be held back. In the place of the ceaseless Daiymo wars, we Grievar would fight; the fate of nations would be held in the sway of our fists. We would fight for the earth we stand upon. We would fight for honor. We would fight so that the rest should not have to.”

  Memnon had said those words with such conviction, such passion that Murray had held them close to his heart for three decades.

  Now those words meant nothing.

  Now the Grievar were nothing more than a means to an end. Grievar fought for the Daimyo’s petty political gains, for land or resources or slaves. The Grievar were their tools—things they could experiment on, weapons to warp to their purpose.

  What bothered Murray the most was fact that the Citadel was complicit in the whole thing. Murray never expected the Daimyos to have any honor—but High Command? Memnon? How could someone who knew the Combat Codes by heart treat their own kin like some sort of experiment?

  What could Murray do, though? He was only a Scout. He’d already broken the rules once in the Underground, and he knew another wrongdoing would mean his expulsion from the Citadel. He knew if he asked around too much, it would get back to the High Commander or to Callen and his network of spies.

  Murray slammed his fist into the dirt.

  He’d given Cego his word. What was he worried about? Himself? His own path and future with the Citadel? How could he even consider thinking like some pathetic self-preserving Daimyo?

  Murray needed more information, and there was only one Grievar he could trust right now.

  *

  Cego’s other two mandatory Level One classes were more of what he expected. Striking Level One and Grappling Level One reviewed many of the basic techniques that Cego already had a firm grasp of. Even so, he made sure to pay close attention and took Sol’s lead by constantly pulling vid clips onto his lightdeck so that he could review them later.

  Professor Hunt’s first class began with an animated telling of his rise as a Knight.

  “Back when I was a young Grievar, things weren’t quite so cushy. Being a Knight didn’t mean broadcasts up on SystemView, the adoration of fans, getting the best rooms when traveling, or spending all your time hobnobbing with noble folk. We did it all outside of the light. No one even knew who we were back then…”

  Cego got the impression he was going to hear many more of these stories by the end of his semester with Hunt.

  The rest of Professor Hunt’s class consisted of a series of striking drills. Hunt, in his booming voice, called out for his students to throw combinations of punches, kicks, knees, and elbows into the heavy bags that lined the classroom. Hunt would circle the room and examine each student’s form, sometimes offering small corrections but more often just saying, “Hmm…” which made most of the students nervous and more likely to throw a mistimed strike.

  The Grappling Level One Professor, Sidney Sapao, was a young but experienced teacher. It had only been five years since he’d graduated from the Lyceum himself, but his lightpath as a Knight had been cut short due to a permanent neck injury. Sapao had shown such promise as a Knight that the Lyceum immediately picked him up as a professor.

  Professor Sapao concentrated his entire first class on the concepts of base and posture. The Level Ones took turns maintaining their posture on their knees and standing, while a partner tried to break them down.

  Cego was surprised to see that many of his classmates were unaware of the most basic concepts in grappling. They were fast to show off the new, flashy techniques that they’d seen on SystemView or moves they’d learned from an older sibling, but when asked the best way to break an opponent’s closed guard, they were completely clueless.

  Luckily, Farmer had stressed the basics throughout Cego’s training. Cego could remember the extreme frustration that came from practicing mundane concepts, like posture, for hours every day in the ironwood Circle. Now, watching some of his classmates struggle during class, he felt lucky to have had such a meticulous teacher, despite the fact he’d been trying to block Farmer out since the Trials.

  Cego was amazed to see that all of his professors assigned after-hours training assignments for students to review the techniques shown in the class.

  “More class, even after class? What’s with this place? I just hope they assign us a trip to the dining hall soon,” Dozer exclaimed to Cego as they left Grappling Level One and headed downstairs toward the common ground.

  Sol brushed past the two boys. “What’d you think? Knights were just magically made here without putting any hard work in?”

  Compared to the complete lack of direction for what they called training at Thaloo’s, the Lyceum’s regiment was refreshing to Cego, though he was starting to worry about the workload already piling up on his shoulders.

  Cego paused on the common ground with Dozer to take a deep breath between classes. A crowd of students had gathered to peer up at the large challenge lightboard. Rally cries emerged from some teams as the challenges were posted. Matchups flickered across the board, starting with Level Six challenges at the top, all the way down to the Level Ones. Cego’s eyes found the bottom of the board.

  team cripplers (lv. 2) challenges team whelps (lv. 1)

  “Already?!” Dozer exclaimed. “First week here and we’ve already got a darkin’ challenge on our hands. And a Level Two team! What’s with that?”

  “I’m not sure,” Cego replied. “I think we need to decide what to do now, though…”

  “Didn’t you blocks read through the Lyceum’s Guide to Challenges?” Sol said from beside Cego as she gazed up at the lightboard. “It was part of our prescribed reading last night.”

  “Um… I was planning on getting to that,” Cego said guiltily.

  “Read?!” Dozer responded. “I’m not gonna spend my night with my face in my lightdeck like some Daimyo clerk.”

  Sol rolled her eyes at the two boys. “Well, if you two had actually taken the time to go over the guide, you’d have a clue as to what is happening right now.”

  Both boys looked at Sol expec
tantly, waiting for an explanation.

  “I see how this is going to be,” Sol said. “This is the last time I’m explaining things to you just because you are too lazy to do the work!”

  The two boys nodded. “Sure, sure,” Cego said.

  “We have to decide whether or not to accept the Cripplers’ challenge by end of day today. Each of us individually votes on our lightdecks,” Sol said as she swiped her device to show Cego and Dozer the voting screen.

  “If we choose to accept the challenge, we’ll be put in the Circle against them this coming study intermission, three days from now,” Sol explained.

  “But why would a Level Two team want to pick a fight with us?” Dozer asked. “I’ve never even heard of the Cripplers before.”

  “Well, lucky for you guys, I made it through the strategy section of the Guide to Challenges as well,” Sol said with satisfaction. “Although they are not as common as intra-level challenges, there are advantages and disadvantages to challenging teams that are lower or higher level than your own. The most obvious reason the Cripplers challenged us is because they are looking for an easy way to boost their score. Even though we barely have any score to lose, they know we are fresh Level Ones and they think they can get an easy win off of us.”

  Dozer growled, “They aren’t gonna get no darkin’ easy win off me…”

  Sol continued. “However, there are built-in disadvantages to challenging lower-level teams. The first is that the lower-level team always gets to pick the matchups.”

  “You mean we get to pick who fights who?” Cego asked.

  “Yes, if we accept, we pick three of our fighters to match up with any three from their team,” Sol said. “It gets a bit more complicated depending on the level difference of the teams involved. For example, if a Level Four team were to challenge a Level One, they’d lose a Grievar, meaning one of the Level Fours would have to fight two bouts in a row. The handicaps dissuade the higher levels from bullying the lower levels all the time.”